The Imagination of a Heart
by BeautifulNights
Summary: Post-Hogwarts. It has been five months since the Hogwarts Battle, and Hermione still hasn't answered any of Ron's letters. When do you cut your losses and move on? A story about the after effects of war on love.
1. Chapter 1: The Imagination of a heart

**The imagination of a heart**

Ron gazed distractedly at the door, abruptly awoken from his thoughts by a sound.

He was sitting at the foot of the bed with some paper sheets in his hands. They had a ragged look, as if they'd been carried around and were being repeatedly read by a reader dedicated to soaking up every last syllable in them.

The first was a rather short note. Hermione had given it to him the day after the war, before she left to find her parents.

He hadn't read it until late that same night, exhausted from making it through the day. The loss of Fred was unfathomable, but the Weasleys found what comfort they could in each other.

The note said "Dear Ron. I'm so sorry for everything, and please pass on my condolences to your family. I just want to say that I am so sorry, but this isn't my world. I just want to forget everything. Except you, of course. Take care of yourself, and Harry too. Love you always, Hermione".

That was long ago now.

The rest of the papers were envelopes. All addressed to Hermione Granger, all sent, and all returned unopened. Ron had taken to carrying them all around with him, as if keeping his and Hermiones writings together would somehow bring him closer to her.

After the initial shock and grieving, the Weasleys were now trying to bring their lives back to normal. After the funeral they had all decided it was time to remember Fred for the happy times, and not concentrate solely on the unhappy circumstances under which he was taken from them. It was getting easier each day to keep his memory with them and still live, and even be happy.

For Ron, letting go of Fred meant Hermione was taking up more and more of his thoughts.

Seven letters he had sent and gotten in return. Initially he had been terrified something had happened to her, but he recognized her hand in the writing crossing out her address and replacing it with his. On the second letter she had scribbled a short sentence by the address.

He had refused to believe what it said.

Ron imagined her in his head, different scenarios fleeting past his eyes. He saw her sitting at her desk (though he'd never actually seen her room), maybe reading.

He imagined her outside, in some sort of park, with people all around. Muggles, in her muggle world.

Ron felt his ears reddening, and cold fury rising up through his chest. Then suddenly he slumped. He'd been through these scenarios a million times, and others like them.

Lately he felt like she was slipping, and the more he tried to imagine her face, the more it blurred and refused to stay in focus. The more he tried to remember the feel of her hair against his skin, the harder it became. And her lips…it might not have happened at all.

And yet, even as a slipping memory of times gone past, she still held his heart.

All he had left inside his chest, was imagination.


	2. Chapter 2: Letters you do not send

**Dear Ron,**

Please leave me alone.

I am not writing this to hurt you, and I am not angry. I just need the letters to stop coming.

Like I told you, I have decided to go back to the way things were. I have had the time of my life with you and Harry and Hogwarts and everything, but I have also had the most horrible experiences of my life. And I have decided that I don't want it anymore.

I have really thought about this, and if you know me like I think you do, you know I never do anything without properly thinking about it.

I wanted to leave the magic world, and I did. Please stop trying to make me come back. You are just making it harder for me.

I love you Ron. I will never forget you. I'll think of you when I'm laughing, and when I get so angry I want to throw things. I'll think of you when I see spiders, when I meet big loving families, and when I blush. I'll think of you when I turn on the lights.

I know you you'll say you won't forget me either, and Ron, you are the sweetest and most infuriatingly stubborn boy I have ever met.

But eventually I will start slipping from your mind. You'll go a day without thinking about me, then a week, then a month.

When that time comes, don't feel bad.

It's all right.

I'll be thinking of you,

Hermione

July 5th

**Hermione,**

It's been three months.

You're making a huge mistake, I just thought you'd like to know.

I mean, besides being a great witch and all, everyone you know is in the magic world! Who are you going to talk to back home? Did you think of that?

You know, you've never talked about people from before you came to Hogwarts.

If there is anyone, I'm sure you could just bring them. I have no problem with muggles, Merlin, I think they're great! So, you know, no problem.

I really don't understand why you left.

Please read this.

Ron

August 6th

**Dear Ron,**

I dreamt of you last night. When I woke up this morning felt really calm and happy, and I couldn't quite remember why. I still don't remember the dream, but I'm sure it was about you. I sort of remember…the feeling, you know, even though I don't remember what I dreamt. Sorry.

Anyway, that's not why I'm writing.

There is a book store not far from here, which I used to go to all the time when I was little. I haven't been there much since I started at Hogwarts, because there was so much magical literature to read up on. But I've spent some time there lately.

There's a boy there, Jonah. He works part time at the shop, and studies English literature at the university. He's really nice, and we always talk a bit when I come by. Point is, the other day he invited me for coffee, and I said yes.

So I suppose I'm writing this to tell you that I'm moving on, and I'm happy in the muggle world and all that. You might think I wouldn't be, but there you go.

Would you belive this, if I sent it? Or maybe you wouldn't read it at all.

Are you angry?

It felt like I was cheating when I agreed to that coffee. But really, what is the point of living in the muggle world if I'm not actually going to have a life? I want you to have a life, too.

That makes me think of Lavender. I'm so sorry.

I still think about coming to see you. Did I write that before? Probably not.

Anyway, that's another reason you can never read these.

But even if I could come to see you without hurting any of us, and without making it impossible to ever leave again, how do you come back to someone? You don't just show up, after nearly five months.

Do you?

Would you have me, if i came back?

Hermione

September 27th


	3. Chapter 3: Hairpins and doors

**Chapter 5: Hairpins and doors.**

* * *

Hermione looked in the hall mirror one last time, adjusting her hairpin for about the fiftysecond time.

She was wearing muggle clothes, obviously, as she had done for the past five months. Her jeans were new, dark and bootcut. It was quite a change from wearing skirts and robes!

There had been a lot of changes since she came home that day in may, bringing her parents back from Australia.

Luckily, it hadn't been hard to find them. She had seen to that when she sent them away, instilling in them where to og and to stay there.

They had been too desoriented the first few days for her to tell them anything. But eventually they had returned to normal – only to be horrified by what she had done. And then scared.

In fact, it wasn't until she had told it all with her parents (they had wanted to know everything) that she realised how horrified she was herself. Had she really lived like that for almost a year, been that scared for every secvond of every day for a whole…ten months? Ten months? It felt like a lifetime.

And the more Hermione thought about it, the more unreal it felt.

And that felt _good. _

Why go back to that reality, why not stay here and let it become more and mre unreal until she couldn't remember it anymore?

There were so many things she wanted to forget. How it felt when Ron left them in the woods that day. How scared she was that something would happen to him, how she prayed to every god she could think of that he was still alive.

And there were other things. Bodies, lying lifeless on the Hogwarts grounds. People crying. Fred's body. Professor Lupin. Tonks. Dumbledore. And countless others, people whose names she hadn't even known, but who had died while she lived.

And Hermione had tried to forget, she had tried to stay warm and safe and hidden away in her parents house, in their garden, in the local book store she had loved as a little girl.

It just hadn't worked.

Because, as she had realised, there were so many things she didn't want to forget. And it wasn't just the happy memories, Harry and Ron, the Weasleys, Hogwarts and magic, friends, adventures and all that she loved about the magic world.

She wanted to remember it all, she owed it somehow. Fred and professor Lupin couldn't enjoy the magic world and the company of their loved ones anymore. But what was the point of the fight, of living in that bubble of darkness and anxiety, of fleeing and fighting and being tortured – if not to keep living? Those who…died. They couldn't.

So maybe Hermiones job wasn't to stop living, but to live even more?

Well, that was her reasoning at least. And if there was something that had never failed her, it was reasoning. And it was a nice thought too.

But now that she stood there, ready and with her bag in hand, the thing she had been pushing out of her mind came stumbling back with a vengeance. What, what in Merlin's name, was she going to SAY?

She threw a furtive glance towards the door of her house.

It wasn't as if she could just come knock on Rons door. She had no idea where Harry might be, and there was no one else she could think of. Or, yes, Hagrid. But the thought of going back to Hogwarts, alone and not knowing what she would find, made her sick.

So it had to be Ron.

She had read his letters, and he said he wanted her to come. He said he missed her, that he didn't understand why she left. He didn't seem angry.

But there had been nearly two months since the last letter arrived.

Hermione adjusted her hairpin again (_fiftythree..)._

There was a train station in the town near Ottery St. Catchpole. And from there…a taxi? Did you show up after five months in a taxi?

Well. It was something.

Hermione threw the bag over her shoulder, and walked out the door.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Hi guys. I thought I'd let you know that yes, this story indeed has a plot! :) Thank you for keeping up with me through three letters and a decision to go - letters isn't really a very action-focused way of writing.

Anyway! There'll be three more chapters, in which I will show you what happens after Hermione's now left her parents' house in search of Ron. Hope you'll like it! And if you have any ideas or prompt, let me know.

L


	4. Chapter 4: Be Right There

**Chapter 6: Be right there**

_On the train….._

"Passenger wanting a snack or a cup of tea, are most welcome to visit our cafè-carriage. The cafè is situated between carriages four and five. Thank you."

It wasn't quite the trolley-lady on the Hogwarts train.

Hermione had gone anyway, and gotten herself a club sandwich and apple juice.

As the train twisted its way through the countryside, she sat quietly in her seat, sipping her juice box. The portly man in the seat next to her had gotten off about an hour ago, and so she enjoyed the opportunity to stretch her legs a little.

She had known this train-ride would take most of the day, all the way from her hometown to Ottery St. Catchpole.

It wasn't really that far, but this train seemed determined to stop at every station in the south of England. When she had finally decided to go, she had taken the earliest train possible. She had been afraid that if she waited any longer than she had to, her courage would leave her again.

It was nearing afternoon now, and according to the voice from the speakers there was only about an hour left until Hermione reached her destination.

She had considered going somewhere else first, to make her return to the wizarding world a little gentler. Diagon Alley had been a possibility, but she had decided against it. She didn't know who she might meet there, and what if someone saw her and told Ron or Harry?

She wasn't sure why that would be so bad – but it would.

Then she had considered going to see Hagrid. But she wasn't quite sure how she would go about getting to Hogwarts. And besides, she didn't know what might meet her there. The idea of returning by herself to the place where she had seen so much death..It was impossible.

And so it had to be the Burrow.

She had known that all along, really. If she was to return to the magic world, that was where she had to go.

During the day's ride, crammed in between the portly man and the window, she had thought about what might meet her at the Weasleys' home.

First of all, what if there wasn't anyone there when she came?

After all, she hadn't heard from Ron or anyone else for months. They could have moved, for all she knew. Or gone on holiday.

It was october, though. They had to be there.

But, assuming someone was there, who would it be? Mr. Weasley and Percy might be at work. Merlin knew what was happening in the Ministry, after the battle and everything.

Charlie had probably gone back to Romania, and Bill and Fleur to Shell Cottage. And George…It was strange, thinking about George without Fred. What on earth would he be doing now?

Hermione felt a familiar pang of guilt.

She might not have known Fred and George as well as Ron and Ginny, but still. They had always been there. And she hadn't even been to the funeral.

And then there was Ginny of course. Could they have opened Hogwarts again? If they had, Ginny would be there, in her seventh year.

The last two were the most difficult.

Harry and Ron.

What were they doing, where were they? And even if Ron was there when she came…He might not want to see her.

The thought had nearly made her get off the train and og back.

Ron hadn't written since august. That was two months. What if he had moved, been injured, or forgotten about her? What if he had met someone else?

Hermione sighed.

There was nothing for it – she had to try.

* * *

_At the Burrow…._

"Hey Harry, could you pass the butter?"

Ron was starving, and wanted to cram every dish on the table into his mouth at once. It had been a really long day.

They were trying to convince Beauxbatons and Durmstrang (which had gone through quite a tranformation following Voldemorts fall) to join them in arranging the Triwizard Tournament again. Madame Maxime was proving extremely hard to budge.

When the idea had first been presented to him, Ron had thought it was ridicolous too. Actually, he had been somewhat annoyed. Had they forgotted what had happened only a few months past, forgotten about Fred and the others?

But the more they talked about it, the more he understood. Arranging the Triwizard Tournament in Hogwarts again next year, wasn't an affront to the people who had lost their lives in the war.

It was a tribute, of sorts.

After all, the tournament was proof that Hogwarts had not only won the war, but was bustling with life again. And wasn't that the whole point of the war, that things could go on like they were supposed to?

Ron buttered his bread, and took a bite.

He had been working in the Department of Magical Games and Sports since august. Harry had taken up the offer to start Auror-training, but Ron had needed to think about it. He wasn't sure he was ready for more fighting yet, even if it was only training.

The Ministry assured him he would still have a place next year, if he wanted it.

For the time being, he was happy working on the Triwizard Tournament and the Gobstones National Championship, enjoying the harmlessness of it.

It was nice, going off to work in the morning with his dad, Percy, and Harry. Harry had been staying with them ever since the war ended, and was as much a part of this family now as anyone else. He and Ron had been sharing a room up until september, but when Ginny left for Hogwarts Harry had moved into her room.

It was sort of relief, really.

Sharing a room with your best mate was great, until you started stumbling over love letters from your sister.

All in all, things were pretty okay now. Of course, he still thought about George pretty much every day. Sometimes he would see shadows passing over the others' faces, or he would enter the kitchen and find his mother red-eyed.

But they were doing okay, considering. Even George, who had started talking about returning to his and Fred's old flat in Diagon Alley.

Just as Ron had thought about George, a bit of toast hit his upper arm.

"Looked like you were falling asleep in your chair there, little brother", George grinned.

Ron threw the crumbs back at him, but missed horribly.

"Oh, ouch. You and Harry will be mopping the floor with us at Quidditch later, with that throwing arm!"

At this, Harry looked up.

"Are we playing?"

"Well," said George, throwing a glance towards Percy, "I figured Perce and I owe you two a second chance after that enormous failure last night. What do you say, Perce, wanna cram in a second win before dusk?"

Percy grinned (a most un-Percy-ish expression, which made him look a lot more like George and a lot less like a bank manager).

"Sure, why not? You don't mind, do you mum, if we fly low?"

Mrs. Weasley, who was busy poring over the pictures of little Teddy Lupin which Mr. Weasley had brought home with him, assured them she didn't mind one bit.

And so, the Weasley boys and Harry marched happily off to the garden.

* * *

_Meanwhile, in Ottery St. Catchpole…._

Hermione got out of the taxi, and paid the driver. She hadn't dared ask to driven to the Burrow, the driver might see something he shouldn't, and so she had settled for Ottery St. Catchpole itself.

She was standing by the post office now, which by the look of it was closing up.

It was late afternoon, nearing evening, and dusk was probably not too far away.

Hermione bent to pick up her bag. There was no turning back now.

She turned north.

There weren't many people in Ottery St. Catchpole, and hardly any of them ever went that way out of town. They probably thought of it as a dead end.

Heart racing, Hermione started walking towards the small, gravel road that would lead her to the Burrow.


	5. Chapter 5: Meeting Again

**Chapter 7: Meeting again.**

* * *

Utter silence.

That was how Harry would remember this evening in the future, he thought. He would remember a lot of other things too (surely there would have to be some shouting, later on?).

But the thing most clearly etched in his mind right now was the utter, dropping-a-pin-on-the-ground-and-hearing-it _silence._

The evening had been perfectly normal until they saw her.

It was Percy who had seen her, actually. He probably hadn't been paying too much attention to the game of Quidditch.

At first they all thought it was a muggle. The Weasleys had told Harry that muggles sometimes got lost and wandered up towards the Burrow, and they were always very careful if they saw someone on the road. Once, a muggle girl had seen Bill de-gnoming the garden, and had made a whole angry speach about being mean to bunnies.

Attempting to avoid an embarrassing situation, Harry and the other boys had hurriedly hidden their brooms. And then, Fred had said it.

_Is it her? _

And the silence began.

They had all just stood there like they were frozen, while she neared the gate. Harry had imagined Hermione's return to them several times. He hadn't been able to shake the feeling that she would come back, that she _had _to come back.

He had imagined happy reunions, where they all laughed and hugged and Hermione explained how it had all been a great misunderstanding. She had never meant to leave, and would never do it again. And he had imagined a whole range of bad versions, in which she often blamed Harry for her having to leave the wizarding world.

Now that she was actually here, he didn't know what to expect. Neither, it seemed, did any of the others.

When Hermione finally reached the Burrow's gate, Ron seemed to wake up. He did a strange, jerky movement backwards towards the house first, but then walked quickly towards her. Harry stood his ground in the garden, feeling that perhaps he ought to give them a moment alone.

But even as Ron was reaching the gate where Hermione waited, Harry could sense something was wrong. This wasn't one of the bad reunions where Hermione blamed him, but it didn't seem to be of the hugs-and-kisses kind either.

The front of the Weasleys' house had probably never seen such quiet.

The silence rang out over the yard as loud as Harry had ever heard it. It filled his head like an ear-splitting racket – except of course there was no sound at all.

And still they stood there, Ron and Hermione, clearly seeing each other but making no acknowledgment of the fact whatsoever.

Harry remembered thinking that this was possibly the most uncomfortable he had ever felt in his life.

The whole thing hadn't ended until Mrs Weasley came bustling out of the door, shouting something about hot cocoa. It had sounded absurd. And then she spotted the two statuesqe figures at the gate (oh, I'm sorry, do we have a visitor?), obviously thinking it was a muggle who had gotten lost.

And then Mrs Weasley had seen Hermione, and it was as if a spell had been broken. "Oh, Hermione! Oh, darling, you're here!" she had shouted, running towards Hermione, and her voice carried all that shock, relief, worry and intense happiness that had rumbled in Harrys own throat but so far refused to come out.

Mrs Weasley had ran towards Ron and Hermione, encompassed Hermione in a huge embrace and half-carried, half-led her back towards the house – all in a tearful flurry of "Been so worried!" and "Dear, you're so thin! Haven't you been eating?" . And before Harry and the other boys could do anything but marvel, she was shouting at them to come help make some cocoa.

And then they had sat in the kitchen drinking cocoa, listening to Mrs Weasley question Hermione about how she was feeling and if there as anything she needed. Initially, Harry had felt strange about the wholde situation. But when Mrs Weasley had disappeared out of the room for a second, and Hermione cast him that glance and the small shy smile, he felt a calm happiness spreading through him. He hadn't even realised how tense he was, but seeing Hermione back among the and smiling, he felt like he was breathing properly for the first time since may.

Mr Weasley had come home after a while, all fatherly worry and attention. Hermione hadn't said much, but answered all the polite questions about her parents and her home, and had assured them that she was perfectly heathly.

And much as it pleased Harry to see Hermione again, there was one thing about this situation that couldn't escape his attention. Ron, Harry was painfully aware of, still hadn't uttered a single word. Not to Hermione, not to anyone.

Was Harry the only one who thought this was completely disturbing, and felt like there was a ticking bomb in the room?

He was just about to say something to Ron (thought what that would be, he hadn't quite worked out), when Mrs Weasley got up.

"It's been an exhausting evening for all of us I'm sure, and you especially dear", she said, giving Hermione a motherly look. "I think we should all retire, and let the poor girl sleep. So no more questions!"

She gave Harry and the others disapproving looks, as if it had been they who had hovered over Hermione and grilled her about her well-being, before leading Hermione off towards the stairs ("You take Ginny's room, dear").

Harry tried to catch Ron's eye, but with little luck. His friend seemd to have gone all statue again.

"Oi, Ron!" he finally whispered, tired of the tense mood.

"Not now mate, seriously. I don't want to talk." said Ron in a short voice.

"But _Ron, _come on" Harry tried. "You can't just go off to bed and not talk to her at all! Couldn't you see her trying to catch our eye just now?"

Ron looked at him. Harry didn't quite know how to interpret the look in his friend's face. He looked part angry, part…something Harry wasn't sure he was supposed to see.

"Look," Ron sighed, "Can we just go to bed? I don't…I don't know what to say to her. I don't know if I have anything to say, to be honest about it". He definitely looked angry now.

Harry bit his lip. It had always been Hermione who had been good at all this business with feelings, not him.

"Yeah", he said noncomittally.

It wasn't like Ron could run after Hermione and corner her on the stairs to profess his love _anyway,_ the house being full of curious Weasleys. And he didn't seem up to talking about it to Harry either (thank Merlin).

"Look, why don't we…Why don't we just og to bed, sleep on it or something, and maybe you'll know what to say tomorrow?" Harry said innocently.

Ron nodded curtly.

"Whatever, mate".

As they headed up the stairs, Harry wondered what the night might hold in store. And he decided that if there should happen to be any shouting, he, Harry, would stay far away from it.

Preferably deeply asleep with a pillow over his head, and with no recollection of anything the following morning.


	6. Chapter 6: Reality

**Chapter 8: Reality**

The autumn night was dark, in that soft velvety way it got when winter was sniffing around the corners. In the Weasley house, all was quiet. Everyone had gone to sleep.

Well, that wasn't quite true.

Ron tip-toed out of his room, trying to close the door behind him with a minimal amount of squeaking from the hinges. He was barefoot, having deemed the need to not wake Harry as more important than the need to have warm feet.

As he headed down the stairs towards Ginny's room, he tried to keep his head empty. His head had felt pretty empty the first hour after Hermione had showed up. Then it had become increasingly full and loud, as if hundreds of tiny trolls were jumping around inside his brain. They had been thumping their clubs and screaming angry curses in his ears. Even though he had been sorely tempted to repeat some of those curses to Hermione, he had manage to keep from it. It had seemed better to say nothing.

And when the trolls finally disappeared, his head had gone blank. It still was in fact, even as he reached the bottom of the flight of stairs leading to Ginny's old room.

The door was open. Ron blinked, figured all bets were off anyway, and went on in.

There was no-one there.

For a second the trolls threatened to come back, before he realised that the window was wide open. The cold wind ruffled the curtains. Ginny used to have a rope ladder in here window, he knew. That's how she had been sneaking out to borrow Fred and George's brooms with no-one knowing.

The rope ladder was hanging in it's usual place, dangling all the way down to the grassy back yard. It was quite dark, so Ron couldn't see very far outside of the light coming from Ginny's room. What he could see was a flickering blue light coming from the farthest end of the garden.

Ron climbed up onto the window ledge, and then proceeded down the rope ladder on increasingly cold feet. Maybe those socks would have been worth it anyway.

When he reached the ground, he could clearly see the dark figure on the old bench by the chicken shed. It seemed she had found a jar in Ginny's room to transport the blue flames in. As inconsequential as it was, the familiar sight of blue flames in a jar made Ron's stomach drop. He hadn't seen those in a really long time. Suddenly, as if a couple of crucial minutes had just jumped past him without bothering to register in his brain, he found himself beside her on the bench.

The night was still dark and quiet as they sat there, but wasn't an uncomfortable silence. Not like that painful impossible silence from earlier in the day, when they had stood facing each other at either side of the gate and Ron hadn't known if he wanted to kiss her or scream at her. Both urges were still in him, but muted.

But then she turned and looked at him, and he found his voice.

"I don't know whether to ask why you left, or why you came back", he said, breaking the silence with a slightly hoarse voice.

She flinched a little but said nothing.

"I can't pretend I'm not angry, you know", Ron continued.

Was this really what he wanted to say? He felt like one of those people on the tee-vee Dean was always going on about, talking from a script of written lines. He sighed at himself.

Hermione stirred beside him on the bench, making a small indistinguishable sound.

"I know", she said.

And there it was. _Her _voice.

Not the voice she used when his mother asked her how she was feeling. Or when Harry asked about her parents' return from Australia, or even when she thanked his mother for the cocoa, the blanket, the room..

It was her real voice.

The one Ron heard in his dreams every night, the one he had last heard in that amazing moment in the room of requirement when she… Before everything had gone wrong.

And suddenly they were kissing, his lips were on hers and his arm around her waist.

And even though he could feel the salty wetness of her tears on his cheeks and his feet felt like they were about to freeze solid in the october night, he _knew._

She wasn't gone. She wasn't lost, and she wasn't imagination. The two of them were, and always been what they were now.

Burning painful gorgeous _reality_.


End file.
